


Just Living

by FrogSpawn



Series: Septiplier/Danti One-Shots [12]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, God - Freeform, Nature, Religion, Science, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrogSpawn/pseuds/FrogSpawn
Summary: Mark dedicated his entire life to debunking the fact that he does not exist. And then he meets Jack while locked outside his apartment.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach & Sean McLoughlin, Mark Fischbach/Sean McLoughlin
Series: Septiplier/Danti One-Shots [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1426423
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Just Living

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea when talking to some a while ago, to write something where Mark is a God who doesn't believe in himself, but never got around to it until now. I had so much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy it.

Wiping his damp forehead yet again with a tissue, Mark continues to peer into the microscope with squinted eyes; bacteria in the petri dish wiggled minutely, an imperceptible movement to the human eye, however astute brown orbs caught it, relaying the information with a scratch of pen on paper.

It had been an arduous day. Wade, another researcher that Mark was sharing the lab with, was working with a bacteria that only survived in temperatures that made him sweat like something foul and smell worse. The sun had long since retreated from the sky, allowing projections of it to reflect from the cratered surface of the moon in order to provide dim lighting to half the globe. Along this vein, Wade had decided to incubate more colonies of his inconvenient bacteria overnight, and whilst Mark was so tempted to turn the thermostat down to a bearable degree, he restrained himself by watching the squirming of the beings on his swab.

Desperation which had clawed at his mind from his birth was omnipresent, neither waning nor mounting. Even with all of his insight into languages, there were no words to express the lingering disbelief in oneself, how damaging it is to dedicate one's life to, at first try to explain his existence, and then to debunk his very being altogether. He couldn't even begin to express the sheer amount he has seen and done, the very feats of science considered miracles of which he has performed countless times. Even with the practical evidence and the knowledge he did not perform some deception on himself, Mark did not believe it had happened, or that if it actually did then there was some rational explanation for it.

Bringing him out of a reverie of self-doubt and a crushing sense of confusion and despair, was the buzzing alarm from his phone. Mark cursed to himself - that must mean that he had an hour to get back to his apartment, and God- he knows that there isn't enough time to return and slip past the door before they lock at midnight.

Mark is proven correct when he cycles like a mad man through the night, steered only by the lurid street lights and occasional glow from the window of some night owl's house. Drifting through streets haunted by the ghosts of the day, he smoothly steered to ride into a drive way that led to a small car park at the base of a concrete monstrosity that he calls his block of apartments. It's only when he spies the neon yellow sign taped to the inside of the door proclaiming the door is locked until the early hours of the morning to reduce theft, is it that he slows down.

Panting, wiping yet more sweat from his brow and various other parts of his body, Mark allows himself to breathe. Surveying the scene further, he notices the small, hunched over man slumped by the door, the dim light of their phone screen lighting a pallid, bearded face. His eyes are closed and forehead resting against the screen in his lax grip.

"You okay, man?" Mark calls out, because he's a nice guy, as he dismounts his bike and wheels it to the bike rack beside the sealed doors. It seems to jostle the man, indicating to Mark that he had probably been asleep. There was confused grunt and then an irritated groan, probably due to the fact he recognised he was outside and that the sun hadn't risen as an invitation into his complex.

"Fucking boss…" came the mumble of the stranger as he sat up properly, turning his head to survey his surroundings, finally falling on Mark after noting the overflowing parking lot. "Sorry, what did you say?"

The sheepish tone came as a surprise, even more surprising coupled with the Irish accent. It wasn't one he had heard around this part of town before - there was a larger Irish community that banded together a few cities over that tended to have more of an attraction than some dingy town with little more to offer than cheap property and a higher chance of a cockroach infestation.

"I asked if you were okay. Though I would say you were fine now I know you aren't dead." Mark answered back wittily, anxiety spiking sharply and making him regret it as soon as it came from his mouth. If the man didn't take it as a joke and got spooked than he had just lost a, from what he could tell, handsome neighbour. It only took a few moments of distracting himself by threading his bike lock through the wheels that those feelings settled at the sound of the tired laughter from the stranger.

"That would have been unfortunate. I'm sure the landlord would have helped you move the body off of her premises so she wouldn't have to deal with someone else's shit."

This time it was Mark laughing, a rolling chuckle as he stood and wandered over, casting a forlorn glance to the sign. He felt the man's eyes on him as he did so, and turned to his meet the stare, before freezing.

Blue that reminded him of the swirling galaxies of space, of the twinkling of stars as they burnt brightly and viciously in the suffocating expanse of the void. They reminded him of the deepest depths of the ocean , complex and terrifying and sure. It wasn't until pale cheeks flushed brightly and those eyes cast their stare to the rough concrete below them that Mark actively realised that he was gaping at him. Mark's mouth shut so quickly his teeth rang together and his eyes slid to the dead bushes behind the Irishman.

"What's your name?" It wouldn't do to gawk at a stranger in the very least. If he knew what his name was he knew who to plead to when the man inevitably socked him.

There was a nervous giggle and the sound of shifting gravel scraping against cement grated against Mark's sensitive ears. "Jack. Well, Sean, but I go by Jack now."

"Jack." The word felt so comfortable in his mouth, unlike any other word of any of the languages the universe held. "It suits your more than Sean. It's more energetic."

The long brown hair swooped to hide Jack's rosy cheeks as he ducked away from the compliment, waving a hand as if brushing it from the air before it reached him. "s just a nickname for Sean, really, so…"

"I know. However my words are still true. You're new?"

Jack blushed harder and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly in an attempt to quell the fluttering in his gut. "Moved in a couple weeks back." There was a pause before Jack gasped lightly, looking up with those ethereal blue eyes, swimming like so many spirits. "It's rude not to offer your name back, lest I think 're a serial killer or some shite."

Another laugh, low and tired as well. The chilly air of the night felt like heaven on his overheated skin, although heaven was much too bright for Mark personally.

"It's Mark, which is a shortening of the crazed butt stabber. Fair play to you, correct on both accounts."

Jack's laughter, Mark decides at some point during the night, is one of the universe's many wonders. It's bright and airy, soft yet it travels such distances. Each time he produces the noise it seems to create light, to draw the sun forth from it's duties to the other half of the world and simply stare at Jack, astonished and enraptured.

Time, even the concept of it, escapes Mark as he talks to Jack. It slips through his fingers without resistance, which in itself is slightly terrifying. Even with the unlimited supply that Mark has access to, or limited in the fact that one day every planet has crumbled into meteors and dust to drift idly through space, he usually grapples with it until his hands are blood and minutes still slip through his stinging hands. It's a joy in itself.

Mark learns many things during his time with Jack. He moved from Ireland to America for a fresh start, like many brainwashed, desperate youths searching for the American dream in big cities and sparkling lights. He worked with various film and music companies as an audio engineer, doing freelance work on the side to pay for rent. He learnt that Jack frowned a lot and smiled too little, and that he laughed and joked like a child. Jack also scratched the back of his neck when he was nervous or flustered, and loved it when Mark lowered his voice and joked flirtatiously with him over various games.

It always helped to act, Mark thought idly, as he recounted his experience with the beings inhabiting meteorites under the pretence of explaining 'an entertaining book he couldn't remember the name'. Jack laughed at a joke Mark had made in it, and his insides sizzled with heat.

At an unnameable time, Mark's gaze drifting down to scope out Jack's lean body once more, he finds himself attracted to the glinting silver around his neck. The equivalent of blood within him runs cold at the sight of the silver cross resting just below Jack's collarbone.

"You're religious?" comes from Mark's mouth without his consent, in a tone that makes both him and Jack wince. The Irishman's lazy posture tenses and he instinctively tucked the cross behind his shirt, eyes looking anywhere but Mark.

Jack was silent, clearing his throat, and taking a pause before speaking. "Uhm- no, not really. I- I was raised Catholic. My pa was a priest."

"I thought priests weren't mean to have a family." Mark remarked cautiously, aware of how uncomfortable Jack seemed to be.

"Uhm- well, no. That's why… he disowned us as his family when he went into priesthood. Still visited, of course, since he loved ma, but... to teach us about God and all that. He… wasn't a father… to me anymore."

Leaning into Jack's side, Mark slid a hand around his shoulder and brought him closer to him, resting his head on Jack's shoulder. The abrupt rush of colour and warmth to Jack as well as the high-pitched squeak went ignored as he murmured into the soft coffee-coloured hair. "Do you believe in God?"

At this Jack hesitated again, biting his cracked lips. "No. Not in… that sense. There is someone out there, with remarkable powers, who can perform miracles and is immortal and all those beliefs but… they didn't create the universe. Science and nature did. They just happened to have those abilities. They aren't God, they're not a divine spirit, and they had no son… they have no links to religion, they're just living through the universe. I mean, they're probably not on earth. Probably on mars or something. So… sorry, I'm boring you."

Jack nervously looked to the ground again, face tense as if expecting Mark to strike him. Yet when all Mark did was pull him closer and move his jacket to cover Jack as well in an attempt to ward off the cold, he relaxed.

"They're just existing, huh?"

Something inside of Mark changed. He smiled and hugged Jack to his chest. Some of the threads of disbelief and doubt in himself and his existence that Mark had carried throughout his entire life had untangled itself from the mess of ropes and wires inside of his brain. Maybe he just had to look at the evidence. He existed, and he could do remarkable things that science could not yet explain. However that didn't mean he was a God. It means what it was - he was an immortal being capable with many talents.

With a soft hum, Mark kissed Sean's head, and cuddled him to his chest, ignoring the squeaking from the Irishman. "Just that indeed. That sounds good. Just existing."

At Sean's confused hum, Mark smiled into his hair. There was a sharp grating that had them jumping to their feet, and the doors of the apartment complex swung open. The landlord held the entrance open and scowled at the pair, murmuring something about workaholics and proper sleep before motioning them in with a disgusted glance at Mark and some choice words about his stench.


End file.
